


All In A Lather

by kathkin



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Gen, M/M, can be taken as pre-relationship, gay married in space, or as friendship fic, up to you, very silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5756935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>If Jamie smelled of anything, he smelled of – of Highland spirit and virility. The Maccrimmons were a naturally sweet-smelling clan. Everyone knew that.</i> In which the Doctor and Ben stage an intervention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All In A Lather

“Nothing to worry about,” said the Doctor chirpily. He unrolled a strip of the black sticky stuff he was using to seal the control room door and gnawed it off the roll. “Only take a day or so. Then we’ll be back to normal.” The sticky tape tore and with a wet snap he pasted it onto the door. “There!” Rubbing his palms together, he stood back to look at his handiwork.

Jamie eyed the doors. They were criss-crossed with black tape, layered over and over the cracks around the edges and from corner to corner till there was almost more tape than door. “Aye, that’ll do.”

The words were barely out his mouth when from behind the doors there came another distinct grumble. “Are you _sure_ we’re safe out here?” said Polly.

“Oh, quite safe. The old girl can handle it.” The Doctor patted the doors – then jerked his hand away when there was a warbling groan. “But, ah, perhaps we ought to keep well clear.” As one, Ben, Polly and Jamie took a good pace back from the doors. “Digesting vortex sprites really isn’t good for her, poor thing. Gives her a funny tummy.” He trailed off, stroking the doors as if the TARDIS were a fussy bairn.

“Ah, so that thing _did_ get eaten?” said Jamie. The Doctor had been so firm earlier that it hadn’t been eaten, but rather subjected to trans- trans-temp-o-ral – asphyx– asphyxi– something or other. 

“Not eaten, Jamie, no,” the Doctor half-mumbled.

“But you said –”

“So we’re safe now?” cut in Ben.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, yes. Safe as houses.” The Doctor clasped his hand together, beaming. “A day or so’s peace is just what we need after all that. Anyone for Scrabble?”

Jamie wondered what in heaven’s name _Scrabble_ was. Ben and Polly exchanged a look. “If it’s all the same to you,” Polly sighed, “I’m going to draw a bath. I’m a mess.” She plucked at her clothes, covered in dust from the alien world where they’d come upon the sprite and stained here and there with fluids from the TARDIS.

All the same, she looked perfectly fine to Jamie. In need of a change of clothes and a brush down, true, but otherwise clean enough. He looked fearfully at the black tape holding the doors closed, wondering if it was really as strong as the Doctor had claimed – and realised that Ben and the Doctor were both looking at him pointedly. “What?”

The Doctor coughed and plucked at his bow tie. “My, wasn’t that a good idea of Polly’s!” he said. “Doesn’t a bath sound nice, Ben?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ben, nodding, faux-casual. “Just the thing, eh Jamie?”

Jamie shrugged. “Aye, I ‘spose.” He looked at their hopeful expressions. “ _What_?”

“Well,” said the Doctor. “We were just thinking you might perhaps want to, ah, join her.”

Jamie stared at him, utterly scandalised. “In the _bath_?” Lord almighty, what were they thinking? Of all the indecencies.

“In your own bathroom, mate,” said Ben.

“Och, I dinnae have a bathroom,” said Jamie. “Just one of those shower-things.”

The Doctor twisted his fingers together anxiously. “I rather think you’re missing the point.”

“You’re makin’ a point?”

“Alright, mate.” Ben held up his hands as if in surrender. “ _Mate_. Will you _please_ just have a wash?”

“Eh?” Jamie blinked. “I dinnae need a wash.”

“Yeah, you do,” said Ben.

“I don’t,” said Jamie, affronted. “I just had a shower.”

The Doctor cleared his throat. “Almost a week ago.”

“Ach, four days,” said Jamie. “I wash plenty!”

“No – you don’t,” said Ben, tone turning pleading.

“Once a week’s plenty,” Jamie insisted.

“Yeah, it’s not,” said Ben.

Jamie looked from one to the other, utterly baffled. Once a week was _loads_. Luxury, even. He enjoyed using the funny shower-thing in his bathroom, but he wasn’t about to use it more than was necessary. “Och,” he said, folding his arms. “How’s it any of your business how much I wash?”

The Doctor and Ben exchanged an uncomfortable look. The Doctor tapped the tips of his fingers together. Ben wouldn’t meet his eye.

The penny dropped. “Are ye sayin’ I _smell_?”

The Doctor coughed gently. Ben said, “er, well –”

“I dinnae _smell_!” Jamie snapped, positively outraged by the suggestion. Or if he did, he smelled of – of Highland spirit and virility. The Maccrimmons were a naturally sweet-smelling clan. Everyone knew that.

Ben started to answer, but the Doctor held up a hand. “There have been, ah,” he cleared his throat, “complaints.”

“ _Complaints_?” Jamie repeated. “From who?” He shot Ben a look.

Ben backed up a step, holding up his hands. “Steady on, mate.”

“Och, I’ll give you compla–”

“Ah, Polly, mainly,” the Doctor cut in.

“Polly?” Jamie echoed, head snapping around to face the Doctor. Oh, Lord. His stomach curled up uncomfortably. Tilting his head, he gave his shirt collar a surreptitious sniff. Alright, so he could use a fresh shirt, but other than that he smelled fine. “No-one back home ever complained,” he ventured.

“Yeah, that’s cause they all smell as bad as you do,” Ben muttered – not quite quietly enough to escape Jamie’s notice.

“Och, the _hell_ they do –” Jamie launched himself at Ben – straight into the Doctor’s arms.

“Good grief,” said the Doctor. “Do calm down. It’s just that we’d all appreciate, Jamie, if you’d –”

“I’ll give you _appreciate_ –” Jamie struggled against the Doctor’s grip. Ben was asking for a good clip around the ear (actually, they both were, but he wasn’t about to hit the Doctor).

“We’d _appreciate_ it if you could perhaps try out washing every other day,” said the Doctor. “Hmm?”

Jamie stopped straining, but didn’t give in. “Ach,” he said, “you people and all your washin’. It’s no’ healthy.”

“Oh, for the –” Ben snorted out a laugh, taking his head in his hands. “I can’t keep this up. Good luck, Doctor.” And with that, he sloped away up the corridor. A door shut behind him with a _snap_.

Good riddance, Jamie thought. With Ben gone, the Doctor released him – but kept a grip on is shoulders. “Will you at least give it some thought? Hmm?”

“I’ve already thought about it,” said Jamie, resolute.

“Ah, well,” said the Doctor with a sigh that had Jamie all but convinced he’d given up. He should’ve known better. The Doctor never gave up without a fight. “Time for plan B.”

“Hey, what –”

Before Jamie could argue, the Doctor’s arms wrapped around his waist and dragged him bodily up the corridor. For a moment he was too bewildered by the turn of events to do anything but let himself be dragged – then he began to fight. “Hey – let me go!” he said. “What’re you doin’?” He struggled and squirmed, but the little man was a lot stronger than he looked. He didn’t budge an inch.

“This is for your own good, Jamie,” he said.

“Let _go_ of me!” Jamie cried. “Ben! Polly! Hey!” If either of them heard, they didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention. He ground his heels into the floor, but that only slowed their progress. “Where are we goin’?”

“Your bathroom.” The Doctor sounded slightly choked, straining as he was to shift Jamie’s stubborn form. Perhaps he’d tire out first.

“Och, _no_ ,” said Jamie. “It’s no’ good for you, all that washin’.”

“It’s very good for you.”

“I’ll catch cold!”

“You shan’t,” said the Doctor. Jamie began to object, but he went on. “Jamie, in all my considerable years, I have _never_ heard of anyone getting sick from washing too much. Now, not enough, on the other hand –”

They’d reached Jamie’s bathroom. He took the opportunity, while the Doctor was opening the door, to bolt – but found himself held fast by his shirt collar. The Doctor heaved him through the door and closed it firmly while he was still getting his balance.

“Now,” the Doctor went to the shower, “clothes off.” He twizzled the knobs. Water hissed against the tiles.

What, with him right there? He had to be joking. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Rolling his eyes theatrically, the Doctor said, “oh, alright. We shall do this the hard way.” Taking Jamie by the shoulders, he dragged him towards the shower.

“No, no, no –” Jamie’s protests fell on deaf ears. The Doctor bundled him into the shower, clothes and shoes and all, and closed the sliding door behind him. “ _Nyarrgh_ ,” he said, closing his eyes against the sudden spray of hot water. “ _Eurgh_. Doctorrrr.” He tried the door, but the Doctor held it shut. “Let me out!”

“This is for your own good!”

“Och, the hell it is!” Jamie banged on the door. “Let me out! I’m gettin’ wet!”

“That’s the point.” But the Doctor opened the door. For a moment Jamie thought he’d actually got through to him – but instead of letting Jamie out, the Doctor grinned wickedly and climbed into the shower beside him.

“Good and wet, are we?” He squeezed the pump bottle on the wall, producing a handful of soapy froth which he proceeded to smear all over Jamie’s shirt.

“Hey, stop that!” said Jamie. “Doctor! _Heyy_.” The Doctor moved onto his kilt, lathering it up.

“There we are, now,” he said, pleased with his bubbly handiwork.

“You stop that, or I’ll –” Jamie thumped the pump bottle and thrust the resulting handful of foam into the Doctor’s face.

The Doctor squeaked. “Oouch! _Jamie_! Not in my eyes!” As he reached up to scrape it out, Jamie took the opportunity to lunge for the door, only to be wrestled away. He squirmed and fought in the Doctor’s grip, ever-increasingly slippery – and before he knew it they were both of them covered head to toe in soap.

After that, one thing led to another and before he knew it he was standing sullenly naked under the spray while the Doctor massaged soap into his hair. “Doesn’t that feel better?”he said, still dressed in his sodden clothes.

“No.” But Jamie was well past the point of arguing – and he had to admit, having the Doctor wash his hair felt sort of – well – nice.

“What did I tell you?” the Doctor said. Jamie grunted. The Doctor thrust his head under the spray and rinsed out the soap. “There we are. All clean,” he said, turning off the water.

Jamie sighed, and rubbed water out of his eyes. He turned around. “Can I _go_ now?”

“Off you pop,” said the Doctor, opening the door. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Aye, dinnae push it.” Jamie snatched up a towel and draped it around himself.

The Doctor plucked at the collar of his wet shirt and made for the door, shoes in one hand, coat in the other. “Well, if not, I shall see you the day after tomorrow,” he said. Pausing with his hand on the door, he went on, “do you know, I rather enjoyed that?”

“Ach.” Jamie rolled his head back, praying for strength. “ _Fine_. Have it your way. Just dinnae rub soap all over me kilt again, or I’ll – I’ll – well, you’ll see.”

“You ought to be grateful,” said the Doctor with a sly grin. “I cleaned it for you.” 

Before Jamie could do more than breathe in, he had slipped out the door. “ _Cleaned_ it –” Och, there was no sense in arguing, especially not now the Doctor was gone. He dried himself off and, for want of anything else to wear, dragged on his wet clothes.

Out in the corridor, barefoot, adjusting the set of his damp shirt, he ran into Polly. “Oh, Jamie,” she said. “There you are. I was wondering –” She looked him up and down. “Are you – why are you so wet?”

Jamie looked at himself. He was dripping on the floor a bit. “I took a shower.”

Polly bit her lip. “You – _do_ know you’re meant to take your clothes off first?”

“Aye, well,” said Jamie, shoving past her. “You tell that to the Doctor.”


End file.
